


The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces

by bluebeholder



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twelve Dancing Princesses Fusion, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Danarius is his own warning, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Happy Ending, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a man named Fenris who nightly danced his shoes to pieces. His master hired a mage named Anders to discover the secret. Of course, nothing is ever simple, and before long Anders discovered that there was far more to the situation than met the eye.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adrift_me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/gifts).



Once upon a time, there was an old magister named Danarius who had a slave, a magnificent warrior elf. He had tattoos of magical lyrium to imbue him with strange powers to move through flesh and stone as if they were air. He was beautiful and clever, and though he could not read, he had the tongue of a poet all the same. The slave’s name was Fenris.

Danarius called him his most prized possession. He treated Fenris with the greatest care, giving him the most well-forged armor and weapons and caring for him as one might care for a pampered pet, but by the whip in Danarius’ hand and the iron collar around Fenris’ neck, all knew that Danarius was the master.

By day, Fenris guarded Danarius with his life, and by night he slept locked in a cell with walls that even he could not pass through. Danarius would take no chances on Fenris escaping his control, for Fenris was also known to all the land as a wolf. He was set upon Danarius’ enemies to slaughter them. No one Fenris hunted could escape him. But wolves are not to be tamed, and even on a leash, Danarius knew he could take no risks with his pet.

Thus, when Danarius discovered one morning that Fenris’ shoes had been worn through entirely, as if he had been running all the night, the magister’s rage shook the walls of his estate. Though he tormented Fenris with terrible magic, Fenris would not reveal his secret. Indeed, rumor had it that Fenris even laughed in Danarius’ face.

This went on for night after night. Danarius at last made a decree that he wanted someone to discover the secret. To the lucky mage who succeeded in the task within three days and nights, he would award great wealth and a position as his apprentice. Danarius was a powerful magister and was, despite his cruel nature, admired by many in his country. It was certain that someone would take up his offer.

After a while, a clever mage named Hadriana presented herself to Danarius to discover Fenris’ secret. She was as arrogant and wicked as Danarius, though young and beautiful. “I will succeed,” she assured Danarius, “and show you that I am a worthy apprentice.”

Danarius gave Hadriana a feast and toasted to her bravery. He ordered Fenris himself to serve Hadriana her wine at dinner. Afterwards, Hadriana was taken to Fenris’ cell with him, and they were locked inside. When the dawn came, however, it was discovered that Hadriana had fallen asleep, and Fenris’ shoes were once again worn through. She pleaded her case to Danarius, and the same events repeated for the second and third evenings.

On the morning of the fourth day, Hadriana had not discovered the secret. Danarius commanded Fenris to slay her, which he did without remorse. He threw her heart at Danarius’ feet and looked his master in the eye.

“In the end,” Fenris snarled, “I will tear out your heart, too.”

To a sensible person, Hadriana’s fate would have been enough to deter them from involving themselves in this affair. Would-be magisters of Danarius’ country, however, were hungry for power, and would do whatever it took—even trafficking with demons—to achieve their ends. A risk of death, to such mages, was a trifle.

So they came to Danarius’ estate in a steady stream, and in a steady stream, they died.

Now, it happened that about this time, a mage from the south, Anders, was traveling north into Danarius’ country. Where Anders came from, mages were not held in half so high regard as they were here. He had escaped after many trials from the prison tower in which he had been held, and journeyed now to a country where, so it was said, mages lived in paradise.

At the moment, however, Anders was as poor as a chantry mouse. He had made his living in the south by his skills as a healer and physician, but in this land, there was such a surplus of mages that his abilities, hidden by his shabby clothes and splintered staff, were not in high demand. Anders was tired, hungry, and the soles of his boots were nearly worn through from travel.

He had just begun to believe that his quest for freedom would meet with utter failure when he met an old woman on the road. Though she wore simple clothes, Anders realized instantly by her strange yellow eyes that she was an exceedingly powerful mage indeed. “Will you share a bite of your bread with me?” she asked.

Anders knew it was _very_ unwise to anger a mage on the road, and so he agreed, though he had very little bread left to share. They sat and ate beside the road. Anders told the old woman his story and she listened with great sympathy. “Do you know where you are going?” she asked at last.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Anders admitted. He looked up and down the great road. “I’d heard a rumor that some magister has a servant doing a vanishing act at night. I’d thought of trying to find out the secret, and become the magister’s apprentice.”

“Well,” the old woman said, with a sparkle of mischief in her eyes, “that would not be so terribly difficult. Simply do not drink the wine you are offered at dinner and keep your wits about you.”

“What is the price of such advice?” Anders asked, wisely wary of such good fortune.

“The cost of sharing your meal,” she said, smiling. “And because you have a good heart, I will also offer you a favor.” She gave him a cloak, woven very finely. “This was made by the Witch of the Wilds herself. It will make you invisible when you wear it.”

Anders thanked the old woman and went on his way. Not too long after, he arrived in the great city of Minrathous, where Danarius had his estate. Anders dusted himself off as best he could, straightened his feathered mantle and dilapidated coat, and presented himself at the gates as a prospective apprentice.

Though even the lowliest person in the the household was better dressed than Anders, Danarius received him warmly all the same. Fenris stood at Danarius’ right hand, cold and distant as the moon, and immediately Anders was struck by the disturbing aspect of it all. He had been under the impression that Fenris was a servant, but no servant would wear such a heavy iron collar.

“He is my most prized possession, my wolf,” Danarius explained, watching Anders keenly. “Even though you are a foreigner, if you can succeed where all my countrymen have failed, I will still make you my apprentice.”

“I’ll do my best,” Anders said. “You need an outside perspective, I think. Perhaps there’s something magisters wouldn’t think to try.”

So Anders was given a bath and fine robes, and even a better staff. In the evening, Danarius talked to him over a feast, asking many questions of what magic Anders knew, and what sort of a mage he was. Anders could not help but watch Fenris as he answered, and noticed that Fenris looked surprised when Anders admitted that his true talent lay in healing magic.

“You must steel yourself to use more potent tools,” Danarius said. “You will not get far in this country without using blood magic, my friend.”

When Danarius ordered Fenris to give Anders a cup of wine, Anders remembered the words of the old woman on the road. When he was not being watched, Anders used a wisp of magic to vanish the wine in the cup, so they would think he had drunk it. When he saw the empty cup, Fenris wore a subtle smile.

Danarius locked Anders and Fenris into the cell, telling Anders he would return in the morning to see if Anders had succeeded. When the door was locked, Fenris spoke not a word, but lay down on his cot and immediately went to sleep. Anders did likewise, though he only pretended. After a while, he heard Fenris get up again.

“Foolish mage,” he muttered. “Healer or no, this one is no different from all the rest.”

Carefully, Anders opened his eyes a little, to see Fenris pressing a pattern into the tiles on the floor. A moment later, a trapdoor slid open, with a set of stairs descending into darkness. Fenris spared no glance for Anders as he descended the stairs, vanishing from sight. Anders jumped to his feet, threw on the magical cloak, and hurried down the stairs behind Fenris.

He stayed close on Fenris’ heels, descending along the seemingly endless staircase, until the darkness was broken by a soft silver glow. At the bottom of the steps, Anders stared in awe at a magnificent, silent, forest, trees as tall as any he’d ever seen, with leaves of gleaming silver. Fenris went swiftly down a path between them, never stopping. Anders paused and, for evidence, snapped a twig from one of the trees.

At the sound, Fenris froze and looked over his shoulder. “Who’s there?” he demanded. Anders held his breath and did not answer. After a moment, Fenris turned and hurried on. Anders followed.

They passed through a grove of trees with golden leaves and a grove with leaves of pure diamond, and in each grove Anders took another twig, and in each grove Fenris demanded to know who followed him. In this way, they at last came to the edge of a vast lake, black as night, and glittering with luminescent fish as stars in the sky. On the far side of the lake was a beautiful palace, full of light, stretching up into the darkness, and music wafted across the water. On this side there was a small boat beached on the shore.

Fenris pushed the boat into the water, and lest he be left behind Anders climbed quickly inside as well. “What is wrong tonight?” Fenris asked aloud, as he began to row across the lake. “The boat has never been this heavy.”

After a little while, they arrived at the palace. The boat came up against a flight of stone steps going down into the water. Fenris got out and hurried up them. As always, Anders stayed close behind, following Fenris through a great door and into a brilliantly-lit hall. There he stopped, utterly stunned.

The hall, built of beautiful marble and decorated in silver, gold, and diamond, was filled with dancers, wearing beautiful clothes in ancient style, spinning round and round the room to the sound of harps and pipes and drums. They spoke to one another, but Anders could not understand their musical language, and though they ate and drank the food did not seem wholly real. They were elves to a one, stern and serene, and all of them but Fenris were strangely spectral, ghostly.

While Anders stood and gaped, Fenris went forward into the crowd of dancers and caught the hand of a partner. The pair of them began to dance together, graceful and elegant. Anders’ breath was stolen, and he sat down to watch. Never in his life had he seen anything like this.

As the hours of the enchanted night wore on, Anders could not look away from Fenris. Not from his form, though he was a beautiful and graceful dancer indeed, but from his face. For the first time since seeing him at Danarius’ side, Anders thought Fenris looked happy.

Hours passed, and at a very distant chime, the dancers all stopped and bowed to each other before fading from sight. Fenris was left alone on the floor, a forlorn figure. Anders watched as Fenris looked down at his feet and sighed. “Worn through again,” he said, and made his way back to the boat.

When the boat beached again, Anders ran ahead of Fenris as fast as he could to reach the top of the stairs. He did not wish to be discovered. After seeing all this, Anders did not want to expose Fenris’ secret to Danarius, but he also did not want Fenris to know he’d been discovered. Anders needed to think more on what to do.

In the morning, Danarius asked Anders if he had discovered Fenris’ secret. Anders answered that he had not, and needed more time. He kept the precious twigs in his pocket, wondering what to do with them, as he wandered the estate and saw what there was to be seen.

Even the free men here went about with downcast eyes, frightened of attracting the eye of the magister. Anders read books in Danarius’ library about terrible uses of magic and shuddered at what he had done for the sake of power. He watched Fenris at a distance, saw how Danarius spoke to him and treated him. All of it reminded Anders of the prison tower he’d escaped. It sickened him.

By evening, Anders had decided that he must help Fenris.

At dinner, Fenris once again served Anders wine, and once again Anders made it vanish from the cup before he drank. Just as before, Danarius locked them away in the cell, and just as before Anders pretended to sleep soundly. He watched again as Fenris opened the secret door and went down the stairs, and threw on his cloak and followed.

He tried to get up his courage to stop Fenris several times, but each time Anders could not bring himself to do it. On the stairs, Anders was sure Fenris might force him to turn back. In the trees, Anders was sure Fenris would flee faster than Anders could run. In the boat, Anders was absolutely certain that Fenris would tip him over the side into the lake. On the steps of the palace, Anders felt merely very shy indeed. And by the time Fenris was dancing—well, it seemed quite the crime to disturb him when he looked so peaceful.

So Anders waited until the night was almost through and the dancers faded from sight to finally get up his courage to throw off his invisibility cloak. Fenris looked up from his worn-through shoes and in an instant changed from peaceful to frightened to angry. “How have you come here?” he asked.

“I followed you through the trap door,” Anders said. “An old witch gave me a cloak that turns me invisible, and I vanished the wine you drugged at dinner. Simple enough.”

“Will you turn me in to Danarius?” Fenris asked. He folded his arms, watching Anders coldly.

“That certainly wasn’t my plan,” Anders said. “I’d rather like to help you, actually.”

Fenris snarled and strode past Anders out onto the steps, going down to the boat. “You are a mage,” he spat over his shoulder, “no different than any other.”

“Now _see here_ ,” Anders said, running after Fenris, “you can’t just tar me with the same brush! I’m not even from this country.”

As he climbed into the boat and took up the oars, Fenris scoffed. “You came here looking for power. Why else would you seek to become Danarius’ apprentice?”

“I had no idea what I was getting into,” Anders said, splashing into the boat as Fenris shoved off into the lake. “Where I come from, they talk about this land as a paradise.”

“For _mages_.”

“I grew up in a prison,” Anders said acidly, folding his arms as Fenris rowed. “Forgive me for trying to escape somewhere I wouldn’t be locked up just for being able to make lights around my hands.”

Fenris’ rowing was distinctly angry, the oars causing great waves. He glared knives at Anders. “I do not doubt you were locked up, but that would only make your jailers _wise_.”

“I wanted to help you, but you’re making it very difficult,” Anders snapped. “I’ve been chained up, too, I’d think you’d understand—”

“I _understand_ that you are beyond dim-witted, if you feel that we are in the slightest alike.”

They argued the entire way back over the lake, through the three shining groves, and up the dark stairs to the cell. Fenris locked the trap door behind them and they both lay down on their cots, still glaring at one another. “When you tell Danarius what I have done,” Fenris growled, as the first morning light crept into the cell, “I shall kill you.”

“Duly noted,” Anders growled back, turning over. Blasted elf.

When Danarius unlocked the cell door, Anders looked at Fenris’ worn-through shoes, shrugged, and said he’d fallen asleep again. The look on Fenris’ face when Anders spoke was _priceless_.

For the entire day, Anders wandered the estate again, taking note of the locked gates and barred windows, the not-quite-erased bloodstains on the floor of the receiving room, and eerie murals on the walls. He found himself introduced to some of Danarius’ associates, pompous and self-righteous mages who spoke with great assuredness of the most recent experiments in demon summoning and other terrible rites. Anders kept his mouth shut during such discussions, though he listened with particular horror when Danarius alluded to the horrible things he had done to give Fenris his enchanted tattoos.

The evening proceeded as before, save for Danarius warning Anders that he had only one more night to discover the secret.

When the door was locked, however, Anders did not pretend to sleep. Fenris ignored him as he opened the trap door and went down the stairs. Anders followed, without his cloak, though Fenris continued to ignore him as they descended to the forest. They went through the glittering groves of trees again, Anders too distracted by the starkly angry silence to notice the beauty around them.

At the shore of the lake, Fenris at last looked at Anders. “Why did you not turn me in?”

“I told you I wanted to help you,” Anders said. He folded his arms, looking at Fenris over the beached boat. “I meant it.”

“Get in the boat,” Fenris said after a moment.

Anders did as Fenris said, and in silence took up one of the oars to help row across the lake. The palace was as beautiful as the two nights before, but tonight Fenris did not go out to join the dancers. Instead, he led Anders onto a balcony that overlooked the lake and, beyond, the glittering forest.

There, Fenris revealed to Anders the whole story. How he had fought in a great tournament to win the chance at freedom for his family and a position in Danarius’ service. How the tournament had been only a trick to find a suitable person for Danarius to use in his experiments. How Fenris remembered nothing of his past, and had only been told after the fact of the competition by a sympathetic friend. How Danarius used him and kept him, and how Fenris had fought to find an escape.

“This was an accident,” Fenris said, looking around at the palace. “I paced my cell one night and found the secret lock. You must think it absurd that I would follow such an unknown path.”

“Not at all,” Anders said. “If I’d found something like this where I came from, I’d have been down the stairs quicker than you could blink.”

Fenris explained how he had searched the entire palace for an escape, but concluded that there was no way out. Instead, he had come here nightly to escape the horrors of his life, and learned to dance from the specters in the palace. It was a reprieve. His only error had been to allow his shoes to be worn through each night, so Danarius would notice.

“Which brings us to tonight,” Anders said. “In the morning, Danarius will kill me and someone else far less sympathetic will show up. You’ll be discovered eventually.”

“I know,” Fenris said soberly. “I could protect you from Danarius, were I able.”

“What’s to stop you just stabbing him?” Anders asked.

Fenris touched the iron collar around his neck. “This prevents me from turning my blade upon him. I cannot remove it without the aid of magic, and I trust no mage.”

“Would you trust a friend?” Anders asked.

For a long moment, Fenris merely stared at him. At last, he nodded. “I do not know yet if you are a friend, but you are certainly a better man than any mage I have ever met. Shatter the collar if you can.”

With care, Anders put his hand on the iron collar and, with a single spell, broke it in two. “There,” he said. “Now it’s all up to you.”

So for the last time, Fenris danced through the night with the specters in the palace. Anders watched the shining fish swim in the dark lake and thought of where in the world he was to go when Danarius was dead. His last chance had been here, and though Anders did not regret in the slightest helping Fenris get free, there was nowhere else for a tired man like him to go.

He hardly noticed the return trip across the lake and through the forest. At the top of the stairs, Fenris closed the trap door behind them, and they both waited for dawn. When the morning light came into the cell and Danarius opened the door, Fenris leaped to his feet.

“Where is your collar?” Danarius demanded, taking in the scene.

“Broken,” Fenris said. “I will never be held against my will again.”

Danarius looked outraged. He raised his staff. “You will both pay for this treachery!”

Anders called to mind a protective spell, but there was no need. Fenris’ lyrium tattoos flashed blindingly and he was across the room in the space of a breath. Without hesitation, he did as he had threatened to do so long ago, and tore out Danarius’ heart.

Together, Anders and Fenris fled the estate with only the clothes on their backs. Fenris stopped only to retrieve his sword. What had happened would be discovered soon enough, and neither had any wish to be present when it was. They did not stop running until they were far down the road and long away from Minrathous, by which time night had fallen. When they finally stopped, they looked at one another for a long time uncertainly.

“I admit,” Fenris said, “I do not know where to go next.”

“Nor do I,” Anders said. “And next to no money, either. Just these.” He pulled out the three precious twigs and offered them to Fenris. “But they’re yours, by rights.”

“Consider it a payment for helping to free me,” Fenris said. “You have my gratitude.”

Anders thought of something and smiled. “Better than gratitude might be company,” he said. “What say we travel together a while?”

Fenris offered a faint smile. “It could be pleasant to have a companion. Even if you are a mage.”

“Even if you are the grumpiest elf I’ve ever met,” Anders said.

Before they could go on, Fenris stopped one more time. He pulled off his shoes and looked at them. “Worn through again,” he said, and tossed them aside.

“Perhaps we should get you to a cobbler,” Anders suggested.

Fenris laughed. “I prefer to go barefoot anyway.”

Side by side, they went away down the moonlit road. They had many adventures after that, and grew to be the greatest of friends. Long years after their first meeting, they finally fell in love and were married. At their wedding, it was Anders’ turn to dance the night away and wear through his shoes.

And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Grimm 133, best known as The Twelve Dancing Princesses. 
> 
> Any guesses who the old woman on the road is?


End file.
